


This House Don't Feel Like Home

by fishfingersandjellybabies



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 09:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6949915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishfingersandjellybabies/pseuds/fishfingersandjellybabies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Damian was going to find out eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This House Don't Feel Like Home

**Author's Note:**

> So, I wrote this, and then decided I wanted to shove it into the Unforgiven series, then realized I was too happy with how it was, and really didn’t want to have to rewrite it or re-edit it to fit into that ‘verse, so will have to do something else for Unforgiven. Originally inspired by ‘Unsteady’ by X Ambassadors (see why I wanted it in the other ‘verse?). Dick will find out about this later, obviously. Probably.

Damian…doesn’t know where he is.

He does, really. He’s in the cave. Standing next to Tim – Not Drake anymore, not mentally anyway. Vocal habit would be hard to change, but. The idiot had helped bring him back to life four days prior, so. If anyone deserved the respect of a given name, it was Tim Drake, and his other siblings. – and they were listening to his father. _Their_ father.

Jason is standing off to the side, leaning against the table Damian was just working at. Watching. Not too close to Bruce, not too close to his brothers.

The cave was damp, and chilly. Damian was in sweatpants and a hoody, but his body was still regaining its muscle mass, so he still felt the cold.

At least, he would otherwise.

Right now, he couldn’t feel anything. His father, after dropping that bombshell, continued on with the conversation like he hadn’t just said what he did. Like he hadn’t just inform Damian that the reason he hadn’t seen Dick Grayson since his miraculous resurrection was because Dick Grayson was _dead_.

Bruce’s voice was far away. Echoing and garbled, like it was under water. Neither Tim nor Jason were looking at him, either because they couldn’t, still in their own grief, or because they were too focused on Bruce’s continuing conversation. The hard floor underneath his bare feet was nothing. Not hot or cold, or even real.

 _Nothing_ was real.

Nothing except the feeling in his knees. A weakness, a shaking. A dizziness was coming over his head, a darkness across his eyes.

“Drake…” He whispered. Felt his hand moving on its own accord, towards Red Robin’s feathery cape. Tim didn’t seem to hear him. “Drake, I…”

His eyes crossed, the cave became fuzzy, moisture stung his eyeballs.

“I can’t…”

His father was still talking. His fingers had just brushed Tim’s cape.

“ _He_ can’t…”

The earth jolted beneath his feet. He stumbled, slammed into Tim’s side. Bruce’s voice trailed off into a ringing. He felt Tim shift towards him, move to hold him, even said something, maybe his name, maybe a question, he didn’t know.

Suddenly his knees gave out, like they’d snapped or dislocated, and he dropped backwards. He tried to fix himself by jerking forward, but it didn’t help, and he collapsed completely. The stone scrapped along his shins, even as he continued to list to the side. His limp hand hit, twisted against the ungiving rock, the freezing sensation running up his arm as he flopped to the ground.

Someone caught his head right before it bounced off the floor. It was harsh, a spread, gloved hand across his face, and he was being rolled into an embrace. Laid across knees and curled into a chest and throat. The hand stayed on his hairline, an arm across his chest, gathering in his other useless arm, rocking him gently.

“…mian?” Tim’s voice rumbled against his ear, even as the elder pushed back his bangs. “Damian, can you hear me?”

He could, but he found himself unable to articulate that.

His eyes were open, he knew they were. But he couldn’t see. That darkness still framed his vision, and Tim’s face was a blur of red, black and white. A gray shadow loomed behind him.

Suddenly there was another gloved hand, wrapping around his face, then a cheek was being pressed against his forehead.

“He’s cold.” Jason explained, sitting back up. “I don’t think he-”

“He can’t be.” Damian heard _himself_ saying, though through no command of his. His body and his mouth and everything about him was acting without his consent. “He-He _can’t_ be.”

No one asked him what _he_ he was talking about.

“He can’t be,” Damian repeated, and that seemed all he was able to say, his voice becoming more wrecked every time. The moisture in his eyes became full on tears, as his outer arm flapped, and he felt Jason take gentle hold of his fingers. “He can’t be, he can’t be, he _can’t be-!_ ”

“Breathe,” Jason’s command was soft, soothing, as he squeezed Damian’s fingers. “Breathe, kiddo. You’ve gotta breathe for me.”

But Damian couldn’t. Felt the burn in his lungs, but couldn’t stop his litany. “He can’t, be, he can’t be, he c-can’t be…”

Suddenly, a hand on his head. A large one, with callous fingers. “Damian.”

It was like an angel had revived him, like he was resurrected all over again, and the inhale he sucked in was deep. The tears that ran down his cheeks were large.

Damian tried to twist, looked at the gray shape that was his father. The image sharpened, but only a little. “He can’t be dead.”

Bruce didn’t say anything. Just sighed, began stroking at Damian’s hair.

“Father, Grayson can’t be dead.” Damian wailed childishly. “He. _Can’t. Be_.”

Bruce’s hand didn’t stop. “I’m sorry, son.”

“No.” Suddenly, his body jolted, like he’d been shocked, and he began to thrash. Tim didn’t let him go, though. Tucked him underneath his chin and held him tighter. “No, no, no, no…!”

Suddenly, there were hands around his wrists, holding him still as he continued to try to flail. “Told you we should have told him days ago.” Jason grunted. Tim hummed in agreement, and Damian heard it reverberate against his skull, where Tim’s jaw was pressed. “If you were thinking about taking a break one of these nights, old man, I suggest it be this one.”

“He can’t be.” Damian gasped, swinging around towards the chest he was pressed against, despite the grip still around his arms. Closed his eyes – willingly, this time, and purposefully – and clung to it. Held the slack of Tim’s uniform so tightly he could feel his nails digging through the fabric. “Drake, he…he can’t be.”

Tim said nothing. Just held him tighter. Curled more around him.

“We can bring him back.” Damian croaked, and he felt both Tim and Jason stiffen. “We-we can…I did. Todd did.” Suddenly, like an epiphany. “We can call Grandfather. He…he will help us, if…if it’s me who asks. We can…”

Suddenly there was a third set of hands, curling under his arms, pulling him away from Tim. Damian’s eyes flew open as he latched on to his brother for dear life. Things were still blurry, but less so now, and mostly from the tears.

“Jason,” His father called. “Call the girls. Let them all know I won’t be joining the rest of you on patrol tonight.”

Damian released Tim, let himself be manhandled into his father’s own tight embrace.

“Tim, call the Watchtower. Tell whomever’s on monitor that I’m taking a few days.” A pause to run his fingers through Damian’s hair once more, before hooking that arm under his knees. “You can tell them why, or make up a reason, I don’t care either way.”

“Yeah.” Tim sighed, and Damian felt himself being lifted. “Do you want us to stay?”

“If you want, it’s up to you.” Bruce hummed, swaying gently as he walked. Damian could feel the fight leaving his body, the grief turning into exhaustion and already settling deep into his bones. He leaned against Bruce’s chest, watching, blankly, through his tears, as his father just stared down at him.

“It won’t matter though, right?” Jason called. “None of us are the one he wants. Even collectively, we can’t match that.”

Damian hiccupped, and once more, his mouth worked without command, and he whispered. “He can’t be.”

“No.” Bruce sighed as he hit the stairs. Suddenly, he paused, shifted his grip on Damian’s back. Had him completely curled in one arm, the suddenly free hand cupping Damian’s cheek, and shifting around to the back of his neck. Bruce smiled sadly, and leaned down to kiss Damian’s forehead. Without warning, Damian felt a pinch against his throat, his body go limp, and the world fade dark.

“Grayson…!”

Bruce lingered against his forehead before slowly pulling back, moving that hand back to stroke at Damian’s pale, unconscious face. He sighed as he slid his arm back under Damian’s knees and continued on up the stairs.

“We can’t.”


End file.
